


How the Sun Rises

by Drawkab



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drawkab/pseuds/Drawkab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his trial, Draco is left with the aftermath of a raging storm of emotions and he decides to take his fate into his own hands. However, his plan doesn't go the way he expects and he soon finds himself confiding in someone who also has their own post-war demons. [Suicide attempt(s), PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Possible Drarry]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_How the Sun Rises_ **

_ Prologue  _

 

Against a blue horizon lies what could only been seen if you squint hard enough--a growing black cloud, creeping it’s way to cover the remaining light. One would think that there is nothing unusual about this natural occurrence; rain clouds happen all of the time, however not like  _ this _ . This particular black cloud has the potential to cause a storm, one so great that it can shake a person’s core, making them pray to the highest God and beg for it to stop. Yes, this cloud is significant, and one’s like it cause such misery all of the time. 

 

The Second Wizarding War had been the black cloud for so many witches and wizards--the aftermath being an entirely different cloud of it’s own. However, like every ground-shaking, world-altering storm, there is a sun that rises after that reminds people that there is light, and it is far more powerful than the darkness before it. Rays of hope and warmth will cover the land, bringing with it a newfound promise that things will never go back to how they were. 

 

For some, though, the storm didn’t stop when The Chosen One killed Voldemort. The storm stretched it’s dark clouds over through the Trials, entangling them in metaphorical claws, the grip never giving way. Azkaban had been the most forgiving sentence for many Former Death Eaters, where many were kissed away into, what many had hoped, Hell. Draco Malfoy had thought he would end up there--Hell--but was shocked when the Panel had opted for a sentence that no one had received--acquitted for all charges. 

 

As he sat in the courtroom, surrounded by sneers and words of hate from the announcement of his sentence, he looked around and saw only one face of kindness: Harry Potter. Part of him thought that The Chosen One had something to do with his lack of punishment, but he didn’t bother to think much on it. At the time, at least. 

 

When he returned to the manor that night, he was reminded of what exactly had happened, as he was forced to walk through the rooms where, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the ghosts of screams echo through the cold walls. He shuddered at the thought, and continued on to his sleeping quarters still deep in thought. 

 

He supposed that he was glad for being cleared of all charges, but deep down in the pit of his stomach, an anger grew. He had done bad, no, terrible things during the War which he didn’t feel should have been brushed off like dust on the mantel. Like it was  _ nothing _ . He had done the unthinkable during the War, he had been on the Dark side. Sure, he admits that he never  _ killed _ someone, but torturing Rowle had nearly killed  _ him _ . When he had done it, he felt as it his own curse had filled his own body, his nerves feeling every bit of Rowle’s screams. 

 

He wasn’t aware that he had been mindlessly tracing the dust on his fireplace mantel, the figure of the Dark Mark slowly making it’s way into creation against the dark marble, the anger billowing against every stroke as he drew. Slowly, and angrily, the skull vomited the snake out of it’s jaw, and Draco had the sudden urge to break something,  _ anything _ . He settled on wiping the picture away, desperate anger escaping his lips in the form of a frustrated grunt. 

 

He wanted badly to call upon his old house elf, Jipley, to bring him a sleeping draught so that he could just sleep his anger away. The remembrance of her dismissal at the Ministry’s request, though, kept him from doing so. He hated the Ministry, if he had to admit it; they were taking everything away from him, even if they allowed him to live on. Before the Trials had started, his family was stripped of many magical privileges, like having house elves, that would ease their way of living. Hell, they even had his  _ wand _ for fuck’s sake. 

 

Still though, he wanted the sleeping draught badly enough to go into his bathroom and fetch it himself. There were a few sitting on the counter next to his sink, which his mother had gotten for him. She knew the effects of the war that had taken Draco’s peace of mind, and he was thankful for her concern, even if she wasn’t here to know it. No, she was still being held at the Ministry before her own trial, one that he was very much against. 

 

He didn’t even bother to light up the room, and went right to the sink grabbing all three of the vials before returning to his room. He wasn’t sure what his intentions were, at first, but he realized what he was doing as he downed the third vial, sleepiness making his movements very drawn out. No, he had decided that if the Ministry had decided to spare him that he would just have to take matters into his own hands, no matter how hard it was getting his body to lay on the bed. 

 

He couldn’t help let his mind wander as he felt the sleeping draughts slowly take hold of his body, slowly taking him into a blackness that he would never emerge from. He thought of all of the wrong that he had done to people he had brought pain to. He thought about Harry Potter and the years of ridicule Draco had given him. Calling Granger a Mudblood. Teasing Weasley’s lack of money...He regretted it now, he  _ really _ did, and only his tears and the furnishings in the room knew it. 

 

Fuck, he didn’t realize that he was crying; not that his hazy mind would even let him realize it in the first place. He moaned, out of desperation for the pain to stop or the fact that maybe he didn’t want to die he’s not sure. 

 

The only thing that he could concentrate on, though, was the quiet voice calling his name, and he thought that it sounded frightened. Maybe it was the draught, though, and he was hallucinating it all. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop the darkness that overcame his mind and suddenly, as if in a flash, everything was blissfully quiet. 

 

And he was thankful. 


	2. Chapter 1

**_How the Sun Rises_ **

_ Chapter 1 _

 

**_:::_ ** _ She's just like him _

_ Spoiled rotten confused by the life she's been fed _

_ And she's searching for no one (but herself) _ **_:::_ **

 

When Draco awoke, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His vision was clouded with bright, white light and the voices around him came out in muffles. He didn’t remember too much, at first, about his attempt to take his own life the night before, but bits and pieces slowly came to him as his mind cleared. The muffled voices came into focus, and Draco realized that the white came from the room around him, only being amplified by the stark lights above him. 

 

He sighed and turned his head to look to the right of him, and saw mediwitches and healers rushing to and from various places.  _ I’m in St. Mungo’s _ , he thought. He was confused, of course, about when and how he had gotten here from where he was the last time his eyes were open. He was alone, when he had done it, he knew that for sure, but how…?

 

“Oh, Mister Malfoy! You’re awake,” a mediwitch with an all-too-cheerful smile said as she walked into Draco’s room. He didn’t say anything in return, but the nurse didn’t seem to mind his silence. She took various vitals, and placed a lingering hand on Draco’s right shoulder, her cheerful smile replaced with a sad, pitiful one. 

 

Draco wanted nothing more than to wipe the sad smile away from her lips; he didn’t want anyone’s pity, for fuck’s sake! A scowl emerged onto his features, and he kept his head turned to the right; he wasn’t going to give this witch, whoever she was, the satisfaction to feel pity for him. 

 

She sighed above him, seeing his bratty behavior, and leaned down to meet his gaze, “I feel no pity for you Mister Malfoy, so you can stop with this attitude. I am only here to help you heal, and then you can be on your merry way back to the real world. Do you know where you are?”

 

Draco nods against the starchy white sheets on his bed, “St. Mungo’s. I presume the third floor.”

 

The witch stands from her position, “Yes. Do you know  _ why _ ?”

 

“Because I tried to kill myself. I took three sleeping draughts.”

 

Draco rolls onto his back, deciding that it was too much work to speak against the sheets. The witch is still standing above him, sternly, yet gently looking at him, “You did, yes. My last question, I promise: do you remember when you did this?”

 

That puzzled him a bit, as he wasn’t sure how much time had passed from  _ then _ to  _ now _ . His brow furrowed together as he tried to recollect how much time had passed, but he realized that he hadn’t the slightest idea, “I know that I drank the draughts on the first of June, after I returned home from the Wizengamot Trials.”

 

“Yes, that was one week ago. Now,” she said kneeling down again, meeting Draco’s gray eyes with her kind, hazel ones, “My name is Mildred Stumph and it is a pleasure to meet you, Draco Malfoy.”

 

Wrinkles gathered around her eyes, from laughing too much and age, Draco decided; she looks old, yes, but there was a youthful spark about her that made Draco want to smile. Her hair had been pulled up into a tight bun, gray strands decorating more than half of her once-black hair. The lime green robes definitely weren’t her color, but that didn’t seem to bother her any as she proudly stood to exit. 

 

“Oh,” she turned around quickly, “I guess that I should wish you a happy birthday. Your birthday was on Friday. See you tomorrow night, dear!”

 

She waved her hand delicately and exited his room, and Draco realized how alone he was again. The hospital room smelled clean, but the kind of clean that made Draco almost sick to his stomach. The bed also offered no comfort; it was flattened by his weight and he wanted desperately to cast an inflating charm on it. The remembrance of his wand’s hostage, though, made him sigh in frustration. 

 

He wondered what time it was, but suddenly didn’t have the energy to sit up and look for a clock. No, he didn’t have much energy to do anything, which shocked him as he had slept for a week. He did, however, muster up enough strength to look to his left, where his nightstand had the silhouettes of cards and a vase filled with flowers decorating it. He felt a bit of happiness as he stared at them, and told himself to read them in the morning. 

 

However, his right arm stretched over to the table and grabbed the card closest to him and brought it back. He used his left elbow to lift his body up enough so that he could read the card against the shadowy darkness of his room. The front cover was quite simple; a birthday cake with nineteen candles, no enchantments to make the picture move. It was incredibly Muggle, but Draco didn’t seem to mind. He opened the card, and all that it said on the inside was “happy birthday, Draco.” It wasn’t signed by anyone, which left a weird feeling in Draco’s mind, but he still appreciated the sentiment. 

 

He hadn’t bothered to put the card back, and just sat it on the left side of his bed. Draco laid on his left side, his legs curling closer into his abdomen. He stared at the card, not forgotten, and a small smile stayed plastered on his lips.  His eyes were becoming terribly heavy, and he soon found himself into a deep, quiet sleep. 

 

He didn’t dream, thank Merlin. Dreams had been harder for him to face than the real world; they usually consisted of the Manor and faceless people screaming in agony, begging for death. Draco, many nights before  _ that _ night, woke up in a cold sweat, chest heaving and throat sore. His fists were normally closed together in a white-knuckle grip, his nails digging into his skin leaving small trickles of blood in his palms. 

He did, however, awake to a curt shake from rough hands. He turned over and looked at them through squinted eyes; they looked just as rough as they had felt and Draco looked up the lime green robe’s, greeting a hard, scowling face, “Mister Malfoy, it is time to get up. Surely a week of sleep would be enough for you.”

 

He sat up, annoyance dripping through each of his exaggerated movements. He wasn’t sure who this mediwitch was, but he did know that he didn’t like her much. She seemed, from first impressions, cold and bitter; Draco thought that, at one time, he would have been able to connect with her, but the bitter Draco that he had once been was lost to the screams of the Manor. 

 

“Mister Malfoy, I am Helena Heathclaw. I have been assigned to you for the remainder of your time here, at Saint Mungo’s. I’m sure that Mildred filled you in on why you are here, so let me just start our day together with taking your vitals.”

 

Draco took the time to study her features as she felt his pulse; she had long brown, scraggly hair that hung just past her shoulders. Her dark brown eyebrows scrunched together, creating a forever hateful glare at anything she looked at and her mouth was framed by prominent frown lines; a cold woman indeed, but Draco wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by her. 

 

“I’ll be honest with you, Mister Malfoy, I don’t much fancy being your mediwitch. I feel that you and your family should have joined the other Death Eaters in whatever fate they had, but I don’t get to decide such things.”

 

Draco looked at her in surprise, “Wait, my family? They…?”

 

Helena rolled her eyes in annoyance, “They were also acquitted of their crimes. Something about your sudden switch in allegiance. Now, I have other patients I need to see.”

 

She left the room in a quick pace, not giving Draco any time to ask her his questions about the trial and his family. He was frustrated about that, and squeezed his fists together in anger. He would definitely be telling his father about this Helena Heathclaw woman…

 

His day passed in a mindless blur, mediwitches coming in every now and then to check on him, but he didn’t move much from his position that he was in when Helena had left. They brought him lunch--a soup with a thick, warm broth that tasted too much like salt for his fancy. He ate it though, despite the warmth clashing with the heat of June. 

 

None of the mediwitches had engaged conversation with him like the other two nurses, not that Helena really let him speak. No, he decided that he preferred Mildred over the others, even if she looked at him like a kneazle left out in the rain. He counted down the hours until her shift started, but at 3:30 Draco had received a visitor most unexpected. 

 

Harry Potter always came to Draco’s room at half past three, silently hoping that the blonde would be awake. For the week that he wasn’t, Harry mostly read the Daily Prophet to him, hoping that the sports section would somehow bring him out of the deep slumber that encased his being. There were times that he would talk to Draco, telling him about his preparations for Auror training, and he had desperately wanted the sleeping boy to look at him with a sneer and insult him for his great opportunity.

 

Today, though, Harry was caught in the door with a look of surprise plastered on his bespectacled face. None of the nurses that he had passed in the hallway had said anything about Draco’s sudden awakening, but he didn’t feel any anger toward them; they were still quite busy with patients who had been injured during the Battle of Hogwarts. He had wanted to say something to Draco, but the words couldn’t find their way to his mouth. Instead, he stood there in the door, mouth slightly ajar and eyes as wide as they could get. 

 

Draco looked at him with the same amount of shock, “What are you doing here,  _ Potter _ ?”

His snide remark pulled Harry out of his shock, and he strode over to the chair next to Draco’s right, a smile replacing his open jaw. The amount of happiness that he felt hearing the snide in Draco’s voice couldn’t be described, “You’re awake!”

 

A scoff, “Of course I am. Now answer my question.”

 

Harry sinks into the chair, slouching against the back of it and hiking his left leg on top of his right knee, “I’ve been coming here everyday since you were admitted, Draco. Merlin, did they not tell you?”

 

“Obviously not,  _ Potter _ .”  

 

Harry sighed and sunk further into the uncomfortable chair,   “Okay. Well, I guess the best place to start is after your trial. I was going to give you your wand, but I couldn’t find you afterwards.  I--”

 

Draco leaned over to him, instinctively reaching out to grab Harry’s arm, which was resting atop his left knee, “Do you have it? With you, I mean.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Here,” he reached into his back pocket and drew out Draco’s lovely hawthorn wand, watching relief grace Draco’s tired face, “I made sure to take good care of it.”

 

With the wand back in his hands, Draco felt at home with himself. Since the separation, he had felt naked and he found himself gripping his wand in fear of it being taken from him again, “Thank you. Really.”

 

Harry had been a bit taken back from the sincerity of Draco’s words, but he smiled warmly, “You’re quite welcome. A wizard without his wand is hardly a wizard at all.”

 

There was a beat of silence between them, and Harry coughed awkwardly into his fist, “So, when did you wake up?”

 

Draco’s gaze averted from his wand to Harry, and he smirked at the awkward posture Harry had, “Last night. I hadn’t realized that I had been out for a week.”

 

“Yeah, well, taking three sleeping draughts will do that to a person,” Helena said with a cocky stride to Draco’s bedside. She looked at Harry with annoyed eyes, and took Draco’s wrist to take his pulse. He didn’t like her icy cold hands, he’d decided; they felt like a snake, and Draco didn’t find much fancy in snakes anymore. 

 

He looked at her with strong eyes, “I don’t regret it, you know. Not in the slightest.”

 

He heard Harry gasp slightly, and Helena’s grip tightened on his wrist. He frowned at her force, but didn’t say anything about it, figuring that he would get a tongue lashing from her. Her eyes don’t leave his, though, and the room is dripping with unresolved tension. 

 

Harry shifts himself in his chair, trying to make as little noise as possible to save himself from Helena’s unrelenting glare, and he averts his eyes down to his lap. He makes quick glances at her, though, as she continues to take Draco’s vitals, showing no release on her anger that she verbally shows toward him. 

 

She walks around the room like an angry peacock, Harry thinks; full of pride, but not afraid to lash out on you if she feels the need to. He’s thankful that he didn’t have much interaction with her, as he only saw her around 4pm during the days that he was here, and she never said anything to him. She came in, did her job, and left as quickly as she could. 

 

After she had finished collecting her information, Helena made a quick turn for the door, taking equally cocky strides as when she came in. She paused suddenly, and turned to Draco, anger pushing her normally furrowed eyebrows into a deeper scowl, “Next time, why not try Draught of the Living Dead?”

 

Both Harry and Draco sat completely still as her words sunk into them, the full weight almost suffocating Harry. Mediwitches weren’t supposed to say that, he was pretty sure, and he wanted to make a complaint. He pushed his thoughts down and looked up at Draco, whose face seemed to have darkened. He didn’t look  _ okay _ and Harry quickly jumped up, “Don’t worry about her, Malfoy. She’s just being a prat.”

 

He straightened Draco’s blankets, positioning them neatly over the blonde’s torso, smiling sympathetically as he did. Draco didn’t look at him, though, and continued to only look at his hands, which Harry noticed were completely relaxed.

 

He sat back down, and opened the Prophet, the loud rustle of paper rising Draco out of his thoughts, “I usually read to you, you know. I read you the sports section every day, hoping that it would help you wake up.”

 

“Can you go? I’m feeling kind of tired, and I want to be alone.”

 

Concerned, Harry folded the paper down to look at Draco; he was back to looking at his relaxed palms, but Harry could feel that he wasn’t relaxed at all. He frowned, “Are you sure? I can--”

 

“Please, just go!”

 

His hands were trembling, while relaxed, and Harry knew it was best to not overstep any boundaries that had been placed. Instead of pressing the issue, he quietly gathered his things, save for the Prophet which he sat on the bedside table to Draco’s right. 

 

He walked to the door, throwing a worried look at the blonde in the bed, whose hands were still trembling and his breath becoming more erratic. He thought it was best if he didn’t leave, but he knew what was about to come, and he understood the desperation to be alone. 

 

As he closed the door behind him, he was sure that he heard Draco cry out, but he decided it best to not think much about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for reading chapter one! The lyrics at the top are from Saosin’s You’re Not Alone, which randomly came on while I was typing this. I stopped writing and just listened and I realized how much that ties into Harry and Draco, and their relationship.   
> I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter, because I’ve been enjoying writing it. I’ve been doing a lot of research within the Wizarding World, and the Harry Potter wiki has become my top visited site in the past two days. If you notice anything that may not be right, please let me know so that I can fix it. I’m trying to make this as close to canon as I can.   
> As always, please leave a review letting me know what you think, or any CC you’d like to give. I appreciate anything.   
> Also, this is unbeta’d, if you couldn’t tell. I am looking for a beta reader(s), though, so if you know anyone who might be up for it, or if you would like to do it, just let me know!


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